


And All the Lights Are Blinding

by Amatia (orphan_account)



Category: Jarhead (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-08
Updated: 2010-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Amatia





	And All the Lights Are Blinding

It's surreal to dress in civvies, the first time in months he's worn anything but desert camo and boots. Socks that aren't regulation feel strange enough, much less cords and the polo he pulls over his head. Troy, in jeans and a faded USMC sweatshirt, looks about as uncomfortable as Swoff feels, and greets him at the door with a faint, a very faint, hoo-rah.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Swoff agrees. The grass is so green it almost hurts his eyes, but it's way fucking better than miles after miles of nothing but sand. He breathes in the American air. It doesn't taste like oil, and for that, he's fucking grateful. "Wanna hit the bar?"

"Yeah."

 

*

 

They find some dinky place with one pool table and a dartboard and order beers. Swoff presses the bottle to his cheek and sighs. "Damn, that feels good."

"Here's to being home," Troy deadpans, and they clink their bottles together.

There's a group of new recruits at the end of the bar, obviously enjoying one of their last nights of freedom before their heads are shaved and all their free thoughts are stripped away. Swoff wants to punch them all in the face and tell them not to sign, that it wouldn't be everything their recruiter promised them when he handed out the USMC t-shirts they're all wearing. "Bet they don't get a four-day war," he says to Troy.

"Just because they come to this bar doesn't mean they're in the Suck," Troy replies bitterly, and finishes his beer. "Half of them won't make it anyway." His voice rises with every word and Swoff can see the recruits bristling, ready to defend their honor, but Troy says, "Don't fuck with us, kids, we just got back from a war zone," and they back off.

Five minutes later, the recruits have all left, and Swoff pulls Troy away from the bar and to a table in the corner. Troy lights up a cigarette and smokes in silence for a while. Swoff picks the label off his bottle. "So what are you gonna do?" he asks finally.

"Tonight, I'm gonna get fucked up. You want a shot?"

The last time Swoff had gotten drunk enough that it could be considered fucked up, he'd gotten demoted. "Bring it on." Troy slips away and Swoff drinks the rest of his beer in two long swallows. A shot glass and a bottle of Jack appear in front of him. "What, no homemade?" he asks, laughing, and Troy shoves him over and sits down before pouring.

"Here's to not getting dead," he announces, clinking his glass against Swoff's.

"To not getting dead," Swoff echoes. The whiskey barely burns going down. Troy's pouring another before his glass has even hit the table. Swoff contemplates it for a second. "To our rifle."

Troy nods solemnly. "To our rifle." They knock their glasses together again, and knock back the liquor. "Without me, it is nothing," Swoff hears Troy murmur under his breath and they down another.

 

*

 

Half the bottle later, Swoff's head is swimming and he desperately has to piss. "Fuck, man, move over. I gotta take a leak."

"Me too."

They stand side by side in the bar's tiny dark bathroom. "I bet there's snow back home," Troy says, sighing.

"You know I never saw a snowstorm until I joined the Corps?" Swoff asks. He shakes off his dick, tucks and zips.

"Shit, for real?"

"For real."

Troy laughs. "I didn't miss much about Detroit, but man, I would dream about snow." He contemplates the dirt-crusted sink for a second. Swoff's already decided against it. Troy looks at him. "You should come and visit."

"You don't mean that," Swoff replies, the alcohol suddenly making him honest, and Troy half laughs, half growls, and shoves him up against the peeling wall. He smells like whiskey. Swoff sucks in a breath.

"Don't think it would be a good thing for me to go back to the barracks tonight," Troy says, almost conversationally, like his hands aren't on Swoff's hips, like his breath isn't warm on Swoff's shoulder.

Swoff knows he could push Troy's heavy warm weight off of him if he wanted. "No, me neither," is what he says.

 

*

 

Troy pays for the motel room without asking Swoff if he cares and they stumble inside with what's left of the bottle of Jack. Swoff sits down heavily on the bed, his mouth sour with booze. Troy wriggles out of his sweatshirt. It falls across Swoff's lap.

"Are you dizzy?" he asks Troy. "I'm kind of dizzy." He lifts the shirt, sniffs it. It smells kind of like Troy, only cleaner, maybe, except for the alcohol.

Troy nudges Swoff's legs apart with his foot, moves closer. "Swoff."

"Yeah?"

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah." Swoff tosses the sweatshirt aside and pulls off his polo, getting naked feeling less weird than the civvies.

 

*

 

"Wait, man, we need rules," Swoff says, stopping short of taking off his socks. "I'm fine with touching your dick but I'm not letting you fuck me."

"Fine with me." Troy grins at him drunkenly. "Didn't want to fuck you anyway, Swoffie."

"Motherfucker," Swoff laughs, shoving at Troy, and then they're scuffling, throwing ineffectual punches and elbow-jabs and ending up in a heap on the bed, hands roaming everywhere. Troy's palm skids hesitantly over his cock - "jesus, Troy, haven't you done this before?" "shut the fuck up" - and then over his thigh. Swoff curls a hand around the back of Troy's knee. Slides it up, finds Troy's hard-on. There is only one solution for this. No waiting.

 

*

 

Later:

"What do you see when you look at me?"

"A Marine." Troy's fingertips touch high on his cheek. "What d'you see when you look at me?"

Swoff doesn't answer, and a sad smile ghosts across Troy's face. "I didn't -", Swoff starts to say, but Troy's mouth stops him. It's not really a kiss but it's the only one.

"I'll be gone when you wake up," Troy says when it's done.

Swoff nods and the room tilts sideways a little. "I figured, man."

Troy gets out of the bed and goes into the bathroom. He doesn't close the door. Swoff lays there on his back, drinking in the feel of soft sheets, until Troy comes back and slides in. They stare up at the ceiling in silence. Then Troy turns, presses his face against Swoff's shoulder, and they fall asleep.

 

*

 

Years later, as he drinks with Fergus and Troy's brother in what had been Troy's favorite bar, Swoff thinks maybe he should have held on to that moment a little tighter. There'd been no way to know that this was how things would turn out, no prescient flash of doom or some fucked up real-life forshadowing - just the soft warm empty spot where Troy had been, and the feeling that he'd woken up just a few minutes too late to say goodbye.


End file.
